


A Midsummer's Night Terror

by kleine_aster



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Comedy, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen, Wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:06:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleine_aster/pseuds/kleine_aster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A super-villain is on the loose, and he isn't called "The Kinkster" for nothing. On a hot Gotham summer's night, he entraps Batman and his allies, presenting them with a choice – to either succumb to lust, or perish in his maze. Badwrong ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Exit

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** A Midsummer's Night Terror  
>  **Characters:** Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne (who is 18 for the purpose of this fic).  
>  **Summary:** A super-villain is on the loose, and he isn't called "The Kinkster" for nothing. On a hot Gotham summer's night, he entraps Batman and his allies, presenting them with a choice – to either succumb to lust, or perish in his maze. ~~Bat~~ Badwrong ensues.  
>  **Genre:** Humor, Slash  
>  **Warnings:** It's … dubcon comedy. So naturally, it's not for everyone. I apologize for the wrongness, I really do.  
>  **Words:** 2,248  
>  **Universe:** Comicverse. Could be pre-New 52 or after, it doesn't matter. Oh, and despite The Kinkster's appearance, it's not connected to my fic "He Would Never", in which Bruce and Dick already had a relationship, because I'm not THAT twisted.  
>  **Notes:** I seriously feel a little bad about this, and I'm not sure I can pull it off, but lately I seem dedicated to try and make the most ridiculous concepts fly … right into my favorite character's faces. XD

"You can't DO that!" Robin yelled at their invisible enemy, red-faced and positively shaking with anger.

Watching Damian Wayne throw a fit was officially Tim Drake's least favorite activity in the world, but in this case, he was completely siding with the boy. Though he already had the sinking feeling that this time, his unstoppable rage would not yield the desired results. It didn't happen often, but it did. Tim only wished that it didn't have to be tonight.

Boy, it really was hot in here.

When there was no reply, Damian turned to his father, as if the Bat was infallible, as if he could fix this like he could fix anything.

"He can't DO that!" He repeated stubbornly, but his voice was already wavering. "He can't _make_ us!"

"Oh, but I can, little bird," the voice from the intercom purred before the Dark Knight could even attempt to talk his son down, "Nobody leaves my Labyrinth Of Lust until they have done exactly as I please!"

This was followed by one of those high-pitched, unhinged giggles that only crazy super-villains thought were cool.

"For it is _I_ , The Kinkster – "

Next to Tim, Nightwing groaned and buried his face in his gloved hands.

"– who's holding all the strings now! Hahahahaha!"

"Is this guy for real," the Red Hood muttered, fumbling with his AK-47. He looked over at Batman. "Really, Dark Knight. Of all the batshit insane douchebags that roam this city, it had to be _this_ guy. _Really_."

"Tsk, why are you even here?!" Damian snapped at him. "Nobody invited _you_!"

Jason lowered his weapon and strode over to him, presumably in a misguided attempt to intimidate the devil's son with his height, which was completely laughable.

"You don't get _invited_ to stomp out crime, you little brat," he spat. "You have a _calling_ , and you _heed_ it!"

Tim tried not to roll his eyes. Jason probably thought that sounded really epic. He felt bad for him. It really was scorching hot in the maze's main hall; Tim was already half tempted to rip off his Red Robin gear. It was unimaginable what Jason had to be going through under that helmet.

Dick was pretty lucky in his light-weight, skin-tight Nightwing costume. It looked comfortable. It also happened to accentuate his perfectly toned thighs, his – his swimsuit area, and his – 

Tim shut his eyes and shook his head. He had to stop thinking those thoughts. Right. Now.

"You're already feeling the effects, aren't you," the voice leered, and Tim felt a shiver run down his spine when he realized that the perv was addressing him directly, "Soon, the others will too. As much fun as it is to hear you squabble, my pretties, I have other things in mind for you."

There was that giggle again. Tim was not a hateful person in general, but … he would _so_ be stuffing the mic down The Kinkster's throat once they got their hands on him.

"My labyrinth is inescapable. You are free to try, of course, but you'd only be wasting precious time, time that could be used in other, more pleasurable ways. I know I explained it already, but I will do it again, since you all seem to be a little slow at the moment. The only way to get out of the Labyrinth Of Lust is to perform a sex act for my all-seeing cameras. This act has to include at least two people, but it doesn't have to stop there…feel free to experiment. Get creative!"

Tim heard a loud 'Thump!', and then he realized that Jason had ripped off his left boot and hurled it at the intercom. He'd rarely found the guy this likeable.

"Stop that, you goon," Dick hissed nervously. "Listen to the villain speech. _Always_ listen to the villain speech, or this'll take _forever_."

Tim could practically hear the sleazy grin in The Kinkster's voice. Gross. "There's more. As you've probably already noticed, I have filled the air with a special brand of aphrodisiac … not enough to completely rob you of your senses, but enough to … lower your inhibitions…"

Tim heard another groan. He didn't even know who it was; perhaps all of them. Meanwhile, the sexual deviant on the intercom went on.

"…that is, for now. I'm slowly upping the dose as we speak, and if you don't fulfill my task in the next three hours, well … you'll all go insane with lust, and succumb to an orgy that will include absolutely all of you. Which is great for me. Not so much for you, I'd wager …"

Bruce and Damian exchanged a look, then decidedly took a step apart.

"You see, it's entirely up to you how traumatizing this night will be. Or how pleasant. Because who knows. Perhaps this will be more fun than you think?"

"I'll tear out your voice chords," Damian informed the intercom calmly, "I'll tear them out, I'll make them into shoestrings, and I'll wear them to _school_."

"Don't tell him th – " His father muttered, but it was too late.

"Ooh," The Kinkster chirped, delighted. "You're still in _school_?"

Bruce squeezed his son's shoulder and pulled him back before he got the chance to rip the entire communication device off the wall. No-one said a single word when the Batman finally took center stage, and began to speak.

"Kinkster," he boomed. He looked dignified, but Tim could tell from experience that he was seething with anger and disgust underneath. "Leave them out of this. I know it's me you want. This sick, twisted obsession you have, it's always been with me. I'm willing to do whatever it takes. But let Nightwing, Red Robin, and Robin go."

"Seriously?!" Jason yelped, and for a change, Tim sympathized with him. "I'm _right here_ , you pointy-eared prick!"

Batman turned and looked at him as if he'd just noticed him for the first time.

"Him too," he then added.

"Ooh, but where would be the fun in _that_ , Dark Knight? What kind of show could you be putting up for me on your own? Besides, don't flatter yourself; it's not all about _you_. I want to see all of you squirm."

"Mr Kinkster?" 

Tim knew it was technically rude to interrupt Batman's noble attempt to sacrifice himself for their sake, but he stepped in anyway. "Hey. Hi. We never met. Anyway, here's the thing. Even if we did what you say – and that's a big 'if', by the way – there's a huge risk that one or more of us will reveal our secret identities. And you'll have us on tape, too. Who's saying you're not just going to blackmail us?"

"Good point," Dick said.

"That wouldn't matter now, would it, since you have no choice, sweetness," The Kinkster purred to Tim, making him want a shower real bad, "But if you must know … you don't have to worry. The Kinkster does not care for money, or power in the underworld. Even the other master criminals avoid me." He giggled again, and Tim had no doubts that not even Killer Croc wanted to sit next to this guy in the cafeteria, "Nothing that happens here will ever leave these walls. I will even destroy the footage after the deed is done. The only thing that matters to me is my enjoyment in the here and now. For that, you have my word, you adorable little runt you."

Tim decided to ignore that last part and turned towards Bruce. "You've dealt with him before," he said. "Is that story even remotely believable?"

"Can't say I've ever been in this exact situation," the Batman replied gruffly, "But it would fit his MO."

"Listen to the Bat, sweetling," the super-villain interjected. "Nothing to be scared of, apart from the depths of your own desires, haha. Oh, and your time is already running out. I will leave you to it, but don't worry, I will always be there, watching you. You'll find my labyrinth is full of rooms equipped for any indulgence known to man. Have fun – "

There was a crackle on the intercom, and the transmission died.

The awkward silence that followed was entirely expected.

It was Jason who broke it.

"I'm just gonna say it," he growled. "I don't care what you think, when this is over, I'm _killing_ that guy. Who's with me?"

Batman slapped down Damian's hand that was shooting in the air, and cleared his throat.

"Boys."

Tim couldn't remember him ever addressing them all like that. But it worked its magic, even on Jason, who grew quiet and attentive. They all huddled around him to hear him speak, like he was their football coach.

"This thing he suggests," Batman said with authority, "It's not going to happen. You have my word. I swear it won't happen. We have three hours. We'll search this place up and down, it's what we're good at. Every room, every wall, every corner. He's a madman, he has made a mistake. We will find it, and we'll get out of here."

Those words were sweet, sweet music to Tim's ears, but he had his doubts. Fortunately, he wasn't the one who had to voice them.

Dick bit his lips. His luscious, full li –stop it."What if we don't?" he asked. "You know what happens in three hours if we don't. You _heard_ him."

"What do you suggest?" Batman asked, towering over him. "That we should do as he says?"

"Uh – " Dick went red. Then pale. Then green. Then, he turned on his heels and led the charge. "Okay, we'll start over there and work our way through. You've heard the Batman, we can do this. Let's roll."

They tried. They really did.

If there had been a way out, they would have found it. They were four master detectives and the Red Hood. They scoured the entire place, knocked on every wall, searched every corner. They saw more gaudy bedrooms than Tim could forget in his lifetime. Tim drew a map. Damian drew a map. Then, they argued back and forth for a while whose map was better. Dick checked the ceilings, leaving everyone else to stare at his ass, which did not improve matters one bit. It was hopeless.

And during all that, it grew hotter and hotter. Stickier. More humid. Jason had ripped off his helmet a while ago, then dropped his heavy jacket. Tim had popped open half the buttons on his vest, and for a change, Damian had followed his example. Even Nightwing had slipped off his gloves. The only one still in full costume was Batman, and Tim guessed that even Bruce was crying on the inside.

When they eventually gave up, they were all shaking, sweating, and out of breath. And it wasn't only because of the heat, either, as much as Tim would have liked it to. 

There was an hour left on the clock.

"That promise I gave you two hours ago," Batman whispered raspily, "I'm sorry. I've failed you."

They'd collapsed on the floor of the main hall, panting, furious, desperate, and very _very_ horny, even though nobody was talking about it. The promise – no, the _threat_ – of sex was looming heavily over them. It was impossible to say how long it would take for things to spin entirely out of control. Something needed to be done.

"Okay," Tim leapt to his feet. "Okay. Let's figure out how to do this reasonably."

Damian raised his head like a disgruntled wildcat. "What," he inquired dangerously.

"No time." Tim pulled out his notebook, took out a page and ripped it into five pieces. "We do it like student housing. Everyone'll write down who they'd rather sleep with, and we'll sort it out."

It was dead silent. Everyone stared at him. Tim blushed. This was so embarrassing. Why did _he_ have to do it? It wasn't like _he_ was crazy about the whole thing!

"What?" He looked around. "If anybody has a better idea, I'd love to hear it, really, I would. Seriously. Anybody? Anything?"

For a while, nobody moved. Then, Jason lumbered over, looking defeated. "Gimme that," he muttered grimly, and plucked the paper from his hand.

Robin shrugged and took a piece of paper, while Batman looked on as if he was experiencing severe abdominal pain.

Dick let out a deep sigh. "I guess this is it." He took a piece of paper. "Anyone have a pen? I got no pouches on this thing."

Now came the worst part. Tim turned to Bruce.

It was usually hard to tell what Batman looked like under the cowl, but right now, he definitely looked _mortified_.

"I … just tie me down when the time comes. Knock me out," he insisted hoarsely. "I don't care. But I can't – I won't – "

"Nobody's getting out if you don't," Dick said.

"He's right," Tim said.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Jason threw his hands in the air, "You want to get out of here and kick that guy's ass, or not?" 

Damian wisely said nothing.

Tim was still holding the paper out to him. Batman glared down at it as if he hated it personally. "I'll make him pay," he uttered, voice low and raw. It was very sexy. It became harder and harder to think straight. They _really_ needed to get this over with.

"We all will," Tim told him firmly.

Bruce let out a tormented groan that would probably haunt Tim's dreams forever, and violently ripped the paper from his hand.


	2. The Lottery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make perfectly clear that this chapter is NOT a slight against Tim. I'm going somewhere with it, I promise. ^^

Tim collected the notes once everyone was done, lips pressed firmly together. He wasn't sure how he'd ended up head intercourse administrator, and he didn't love it. But he was willing to do it, if it helped to move things along. 

It was dead silent; he could feel all their eyes on him as he neatly unfolded the notes, one by one.

Tim took a look at the results, and wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh, or cry, or slink through a crack in the floor.

He cleared his throat. "Okay, this is … this is really awkward."

Jason snorted. "It's not like this can _get_ any more awkward," he muttered. But then he frowned. "Wait … it can't, right?"

"Well." Tim sighed. "Here's the thing. We all chose Nightwing. Like, all of us. No exceptions. Well, apart from Nightwing, obviously."

Next to him, Dick made a startled noise in his throat.

Great. This was great. They hadn't even started, and Dick already looked violated, as he took a tentative step away from the group.

"I'm … flattered," he stammered, in a voice that said _I'm terrified_. 

Jason turned to him, shrugging. "Then it's settled," he said. "We'll all do Nightwing, and be on our way. Nightwing, make yourself comfortable – "

"What?! Whoa!" Dick took another step back, hands raised. "Try it, and you'll lose a hand!" 

"Try it, and you'll lose a testicle!" Damian said at the same time, wedging himself in between the two taller men. He reached for one of the gazillion knives he always carried on his person. "Let's fight over him," he suggested huskily.

"What, you think I won't?" Jason hissed, towering over him.

"Oh, I think you will," Damian shot back, hand on the hilt of his knife.

"Aw, c'mon, stop it you guys!" It was hard to tell whether Dick was alarmed, or actually kind of charmed by the whole thing. "That's not necessary, I'm not a trophy! I mean, clearly I can't be _that_ great, right? Guys?"

Jason and Damian kept glaring at each other. It was perfectly unclear whether they were about to throw down, or kiss passionately. In this place, both was entirely possible.

Nobody could've said where that situation would have ended up, if Batman hadn't suddenly called out, "Wait!"

His dark, stern voice did the trick. They all turned to look at him, some more lustily than others. He pointed a gloved finger at Dick. " _He_ chose someone," he reminded them. He turned to Tim. "Who was it?" He sounded confident; like he was expecting a particular answer.

Tim looked down at Dick's note. Then he looked up at Bruce. Then down again. He really didn't know how to tell it to Batman's face, so he simply pointed at Damian.

The boy only looked surprised for the quarter of a second. Then, a look of pure, wild triumph washed across his face.

"I knew it," he breathed, while Dick buried his face in his hands.

He looked up in time to see the death glare that Bruce delivered to him, while Damian marched over to stand next to him, smug like a cat guarding the mouse he'd caught. "I – um," Dick squirmed under his gaze. "Br – I mean, Batman, I'm really – "

"Don't." Bruce's voice cut like a knife. "We don't have time for that." 

Tim wondered which was worse; being cock-blocked by your own son, or watching that same son waltz off to have sex with your former partner. He tried not to think about it too hard. Seemed like a potpourri of terrible feelings.

Bruce tore his eyes away from the pair and looked at Tim and Jason in turn. He now seemed darkly determined to see it through to the end. Tim's breath got caught in his throat when he realized that one of them was now _definitely_ going to have sex with Batman. A very, very furious Batman. Knowing that did … things to him.

"I suppose we three have to go again," Bruce growled at them.

Under the circumstances, it sounded pretty kinky, even though it was accurate. Tim's fingers were shaking when he tore another page from his notebook. He'd never seen anyone scribble a note as angrily as Bruce did a moment later.

He collected them again, in silence. His mouth was very dry. He took another look at the results, and felt his heart drop several stories into his stomach.

He wasn't sure how he felt. Whether he was relieved .... or … 

"Okay, to make this perfectly clear," he said slowly, "Out of all the people in this room … _I'm_ the one that nobody wants to get with."

Jason Todd flinched at that. He looked startled. "Wait _what_?"

Tim handed him the note without looking at him, or at Batman, or at anyone, really. "We both picked him, and he picked you. So … that's that."

He could've been talking to a rock. The Red Hood paid no attention to him. He had grown very pale, large eyes fixed on the Dark Knight. He looked 40% intrigued, 40% frightened, and 20% convinced that he was actually dreaming all of this.

That was, until Batman told him, "Come.", in a voice that would have made anyone's hairs – and nipples – stand up. Bruce was holding it together pretty well, but he too had to be affected by the aphrodisiac.

He didn't have to say it twice.

Tim bit his lip. He felt awfully superfluous all of a sudden.

It was weird. This whole thing was wrong and twisted, and it was not like he wanted to be a part of it. This wasn't exactly his perfect scenario for having sex with someone, especially … especially since he'd never had sex before. 

But he hadn't expected to feel this … _unwanted_ now.

This was childish. It had to stop.

What made it even worse, when Dick put a hand on his shoulder, Tim could tell that he felt _bad_ for him. "Aw, Red Robin, don't be disappoin- I mean. Look, technically someone will _have_ to make love to you, so once we're all back, we will … see to that …"

"No you won't," Damian declared, tugging at Nightwing's arm.

"Gee, thanks, Nightwing," Tim said stiffly, mainly to get them both to stop talking. "It's. Fine. I'm. Fine. So, uh. Time's running out, you all should get going. I'll wait back here and … stand guard."

He couldn't take Bruce and Dick's uncomfortable faces, Jason's awestruck expression, or Damian's obvious glee for much longer, so he turned away. After a few moments, he could hear them walk away in pairs, in different directions. All by himself, Tim plopped down on the floor, and proceeded to guard … nothing.

This totally wouldn't have happened to him with the Titans.

He hoped.


	3. The Agony And The Ecstasy

"We'll use our hands," Bruce spat at him as he slammed the door shut behind them. "We'll use our hands, we'll be _quick_ about it, and that's _all_ that's going to happen!"

Then he proceeded to stand in the middle of the room, delivering his best withering stare to where he thought the camera was. It was the perfect blend of rage, defiance, and despair; it was hot as fuck.

Jason was left leaning in the doorframe, watching him. His pulse was racing. And not only because they'd kinda rushed here.

Batman … _Bruce_ had lead him into the room called The Temple, probably because it was the closest, and also the most dimly lit. The red, sandy walls were lined with torches, and there was incense in the air, probably laced heavily with The Kinkster's horny gas. It looked like a porny version of some sort of ritual chamber. There was an altar at the center, but that altar was also a bed. And it was _still_ one of the less tacky rooms they'd come across, at least if you chose to ignore that massive, super-explicit mural of three nymphs doing it with a satyr.

Jason thought it was weirdly fitting. There was something unholy, something blasphemous in what they were about to do, in a way that made his mouth water and his nipples so hard they were chafing against the inside of his shirt. But it was entirely possible that Bruce wasn't even aware of that, or plain didn't care.

"You won't get away with this, Kinkster," the Dark Knight now announced to the empty room. His deep, gruff voice was shaking. "I'll make you regret this, can you hear me?!"

Behind him, Jason huffed and looked at his boots. Figured. It was only the two of them and a camera, and Bruce chose to talk to _the camera_. It seemed impossible for Jason to get his attention, even if his life depended on fucking him, or as he called it, _using his hands_ on him; an image that sent a soft, sweet, queasy shiver down his spine.

He had a nervous knot in his stomach. If Bruce was gonna be like this, how was he supposed to get him turned on? How was he supposed to get him off? His fear of failure ran deep, and he really _really_ didn't want to add "shitty sex" to the long list of things that went wrong between him and Batman. He had to make Bruce direct all that anger towards _him_ , which meant he had to get his attention first. And the only way he knew how anymore was by yanking his chain. 

It wasn't easy, because his heart was pounding all the way up in his throat, and it was difficult to get the words out. He took out his lighter and toyed with it. "I know why you did it," he said slyly.

The Bat still wouldn't look at him. But he at least tilted his head in his direction, irritated. "What," he barked.

Jason grinned wryly. "I know why you chose me and not the pretend – the little one." In his mind, Tim Drake was still "the little one", even though Asshole Kid was in the picture now.

"It's because…because he's _the innocent_." It hurt like a bitch to say it. It was like a scab that wouldn't heal because he couldn't leave it alone. "He admires you. He looks up to you. If you used him for this, it might ruin all of that. You could lose him. But me…" His lips curled up into a bitter smile. "There's nothing left to ruin. You've already lost me. So. No damage done, right."

He realized that it was a masochistic thing to say; but he couldn't stop, he could never stop parading his cross around in front of Batman, ever. It was like a compulsion. A sickness.

Or maybe, deep down inside, he desperately hoped that he was wrong, hoped to hear Bruce say that he'd chosen him because he'd wanted him more.

Of course, Bruce shot all of that down when he coldly pointed out: "You weren't my first choice."

It hurt. It was humiliating. But Jason snorted, and pretended to take it in stride. "I never am," he pushed out between gritted teeth.

He wanted to hurt and humiliate him back. When it came to Bruce, that thirst was never quenched. "Well, Dark Knight, if you really wanted a piece of _him_ , you should've gotten in there while you had the chance," he teased, snapping his lighter shut with a metallic 'click' and stowing it away. "Because as you've probably figured out by now, _everyone does_." He said it as sleazily as possible; if he could taunt Bruce with the image of Dick getting nailed by a bunch of dudes that weren't him, great. "Tell me, though, how's it feel to have to get in line behind your own s – "

He knew it was a fucking stupid thing to say the second it left his mouth, but not as fast as Batman did. Before he knew it, Bruce had slammed him into the wall, scowling, furious, dark blue eyes burning into his. His big, gloved hand was brutally covering his mouth. Beneath him, Jason shuddered and squirmed; but it wasn't out of the terror that Bruce had probably meant to inspire.

"We're being taped, you _idiot_ ," Batman growled, 'idiot' being the most personal thing he'd said to Jason in years. His hot breath was grazing Jason's face. "This is what's _wrong_ with you. You don't _think_. You never do. If you don't stop shooting your mouth off right now, I'll – "

He never finished that threat. He froze. His eyes went wide with surprise, which looked oddly charming behind the cowl. "Wait, that's not a gun down there. Are you … are you _erect_ right now?"

Jason let out a soft groan in response.

He followed Bruce's eyes as he slowly looked down at the bulge in his pants. There was a note of shocked disbelief in the way he stared at it. It was shameful, and it was embarrassing, and somehow, it served to make him even harder. His dick was throbbing under his former mentor's gaze. He wondered, irrationally, if Bruce was maybe impressed, if he liked the size of it, liked the shape of it. He wanted him to. He wanted him to be impressed because that's what he always wanted.

Bruce wouldn't let him speak, but Jason wouldn't have known how to tell him, anyway. How to tell him that he'd always dreamed about it. The truth was, he'd wanted to open his legs for him long before he'd even known how that'd really work, or what it meant. It'd been a boyish idol crush that had, later, blossomed into a full-blown obsession. He couldn't count the nights he'd laid in his bed in the Mansion, drenched in sweat, and made himself come imagining himself on his knees, with Bruce's semen dripping from his chin. The many times he'd beaten off furiously to the idea of Batman catching him doing it, and somehow … _punishing_ him with his long, hard cock, whispering harsh little things to him like he did, directing his body, using him in any way Jason could imagine, and a few that he couldn't. He didn't dare count the times he still dreamed about that, today. But even now, with his dick pulsing against Bruce's thigh, it seemed like an impossible thing to say.

But maybe he didn't have to say it. Maybe Bruce could tell from the way Jason was shaking under his hands.

Somehow, he managed to pry the gloved fingers away from his mouth. "Don't be so surprised," he muttered, wrapping his arms around Bruce's neck. "You knew this would happen. You knew it when you brought me here."

Bruce grew tense, but he didn't back away; his body seemed very, very warm despite the suit. There was something alluring about the obvious conflict on his face. "I – " He sounded husky. "I don't think I can – " 

He had a sweet, sweaty, tantalizing scent. Jason could tell that he had cologne'd up for some kind of event earlier in the night, and then washed it off before he'd stepped into the suit. That's what he smelled like now, traces of exquisiteness and underneath that, something earthier. That was _him_.

He leaned over to whisper to him. It was a shot in the dark, but he wagered it was a good one. "Maybe I'll let you spank me."

Bruce let out a gasp. His whole body stirred. And then, he looked at Jason scandalized and ashamed at the same time, and he knew that he'd been right. When he let his hand slide down between the other man's legs, he could feel something come alive under his fingers. A deliciously suppressed moan came from Bruce's lips. His hips involuntarily rolled up to meet him.

Jason shot him a triumphant smile, working his fingers up and down his length. Bruce was so deeply obsessed with discipline that Jason had always suspected he was kind of into it, sexually. He also was fairly sure that he never let it show, ever, because Gotham was a gossip-hungry city, and he couldn't afford any rumors that billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne was _weird_ in bed.

"D'you ever allow yourself to do that, huh?" He asked, squeezing him through the fabric of his suit. "D'you let people see that side of you? Because you can show it to me. Tell me what you want, and I'll do it, I'd do _anything_." His lips quivered. Further down, his loins were quivering, too. "You can … you can even pretend I'm _him_ , if that's what you want, I don't even care – "

The words got stuck in his throat when suddenly, Bruce did something that Jason hadn't expected.

He took off his right glove and cupped Jason's face in his hand. The touch was so light, so gentle that it almost freaked him out. Bruce hadn't touched him like that since he'd been a boy, and even then only rarely. It was so comforting that he could've cried. And for the first time since they'd come to this wretched place, Bruce looked at him as if he was really _seeing_ him. Not a nuisance, not extra baggage, not an enemy. Just him. Just Jason.

His fingers were caressing him. His hand was warm. Jason couldn't help burying his face in it with a longing moan. It felt so good.

"You're sick," Batman told him. 

Jason tensed at that harsh indictment. But Bruce's voice was soft, almost tender; _caring_. "That's not you talking. It's that poison running through your veins. But I'll help you. We'll fix it. We'll get it out of you. I promise."

For a moment, he wasn't sure why Bruce would say that. But one look in his eyes made Jason realize how much this tortured him. The idea of doing this with _any_ of them. It was spelled out in every tense, humming muscle that he was aching for it, yet the only way he could live with himself was to see it like this, like he was still protecting them, like he was _helping_.

Jason instinctively knew that Bruce had made the right decision. He wasn't sure if Tim Drake would've been able to bear this.

But if that was what it took, if he needed this little lie to get himself there, Jason was ready to play along. There were very few things that he _wasn't_ ready to do at this point.

"Yeah …" He assured Bruce, pressing his hips into him for emphasis. He didn't have to fake sounding needy, or shaking like he had a fever. "Yeah, I'm sick. You need to help me. Help me _please_."

He was half-tempted to ask if Batman was willing to _suck_ the poison out of him; the thought alone made his dick twitch. But he didn't dare to. He didn't want to ruin it. It almost scared him how starved he was for this, how much he loved Bruce acting like he _cared_. It was addictive.

Bruce made an approving noise in his throat. It was what he'd needed to hear. He let his thumb trail across Jason's lips, and there was a sharp intake of breath when the younger man let it slide into the softness his mouth.

"Hood," he blurted out, almost like he couldn't control it. Almost. There was still a kernel of control left, Jason could tell.

He stopped sucking on Bruce's fingers long enough to beg, "Call me Jason, please, I don't care if he knows, I want it."

The older man gave him a stern look. His touch grew a little harsher. "You can't use my name," he reminded him sharply, "You can never use it, through any of this, do you understand?" He paused, licking his lips. "Jason?"

"Yes, Sir." Jason presented him with a wet, obedient smile. "I won't. I swear."

Bruce nodded at that, satisfied. Then, he nearly made Jason yelp as he grabbed his ass with both hands, lifted him off his feet, and slammed him into the wall again, kissing him violently.

Bruce Wayne was a great kisser. Of course he was. He had to be. Being a panty-dropper was part of his persona. When he kissed someone, he had to make them feel like he had nothing to hide, like they were the most important thing in the world to him. Kissing him had to make people feel special, and sexy, and wanted, because he had to make sure that he could send them home content, unlikely to ask weird questions.

Jason knew all of that, but it still worked. It shut off what was left of his brain, made his pulse go into overdrive, sent little shock waves right into his tormented balls. He heard himself produce angry, hungry noises. His knees were mush. He was a tall guy; there were only a few men who could have held him like this, but Batman fortunately was one of them. 

Even better, after a while, he could feel him losing it, too. The kissing became more urgent, more aggressive, more _real_ , and he was thrusting his hips into him as if he could somehow bang him through the suit, and Jason suddenly fully realized that Bruce was a _man_ underneath all that, a horny-as-fuck, desperate man who needed to get off as badly as he did.

"Fuck me," he suggested breathlessly, nuzzling his face against the bat symbol on the other man's broad chest. The thought scared him as much as it excited him, but he felt bold enough to do it. "C'mon, I know you want to, I can feel it – "

Bruce set him down.

"N-no." 

His voice was shaky, but his hand was firm when he guided it between Jason's legs, kneading his thighs a little, gently, lovingly, before he went for the buckle of his belt.

Jason remained perfectly still. This felt so unreal that he half believed it'd all suddenly go away if he so much as breathed; apart from that, one false movement would've caused him to shoot his load all over Bruce's hands; and he wanted that, but also he didn't want that. Not yet.

Bruce seemed to sense how tense he was. "It's okay," he whispered, and Jason was reminded that his voice, gruff as it was, could also be warm. "I'll take care of you."

Jason groaned helplessly at that, and then Bruce's hand was on his throbbing, aching dick. It already was all sticky down there; it felt like he'd sported this boner for hours. Maybe he had. He almost wanted to apologize for getting Batman's hand this dirty, but all that came out of him was a half-choked "-h god – "

"Good," Bruce sounded approving, and only a little crazy with lust as he ran his thumb across the wet, sensitive tip of his cock. "This is good. It'll be over fast. You'll see." 

Jason whimpered. His entire body convulsed when the older man wrapped his hand around his shaft, and started working him with skilled, experienced hands.

"Slower," he pleaded after a while, "D-do it slower." He didn't want it to end, but there was no way he'd last any longer like this; and there was no way he could tell Bruce he _wanted_ to. "You're hurting me," he lied.

He let out a small whine when Bruce let go of him. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding sincere. "Wait here."

"Wha – "

He did as he was told, and watched in a daze as Bruce walked away and roamed through some of the little bottles and flasks that had been arranged around the altar-bed. He returned with a flask of something fragrant and slippery, and he put some of it on his fingers before he went back to his task.

"…better?"

"I – ngh – " Jason bit his lip, hard. It had felt good from the start, but now it became straight-up _torturous_. This was insane. For hours, he'd been desperate to come, and now, he was absolutely determined to hold back for as long as possible. And from the way Bruce kept stroking him harder and harder, he could tell that he was on to him. It was weird that, after all, it had to turn into this antagonistic thing between them.

He was staring right into Jason's eyes while he jerked him off, which would have been super-awkward with anybody else. With Bruce, it was bizarrely mesmerizing. And Bruce knew that.

"Did you really want me to?" He growled. " _Fuck_ you?"

He knew exactly how that sounded, coming from him. It was calculated, but he was watching Jason writhe and gasp with twisted fascination.

"I – y-yeah…"

Bruce leaned into him, touching his ear with his lips. "It was you, wasn't it. All those years ago, those things disappearing from my laundry. _Used things_. That was _you_."

Jason didn't even know how he managed to blush; all his blood seemed to be centered in his groin, boiling. "N-no – "

"You lie." Bruce squeezed him so hard it brought tears to his eyes. "I can tell when you lie, Jason."

"Yes …" It had been him. Of course it had been him. "Sorry … I'm … I'm sorry…"

He wasn't sorry. He was totally not sorry about that. It had been worth it, it had been worth every drop of cum he'd lost in those stolen, dirty little treasures. But he words tasted so so good.

Bruce growled at him and pressed a hard, brutal kiss on his mouth, never interrupting the movement of his hands. "Don't be sorry," he said, a cruel edge in his voice, every word accompanied by a stroke. "It's who you are. A thief. A lowly, filthy little thief."

" _Ah!_ "

That did it. That did him in.

His jutting hips flew forward one last time, his legs gave out, and then he collapsed into a pile of raw, twitching nerves as he came. And Bruce betrayed his words when he held him, closely, patiently, until the tremors subsided.

It had only been a handjob. But it came from Batman, and all in all, it had been _one epic handjob._

It was kind of a tender thing for a moment, them being in each other's arms. When Jason eventually dropped down on his knees in front of Bruce, it was part necessity, and part purpose.

Bruce looked at him with suspicion. "What do you think you're doing?" He inquired when Jason started to nestle at his belt.

"Your turn now," Jason told him, panting. He didn't feel quite ready for more complex sentences again. Bruce winced, displeased. He obviously still dreaded this part.

Jason looked up to him, kneeling as if he meant to pray. "My mouth," he rasped. "Use my mouth. Please. Please?"

Bruce pressed his lips firmly together. He was struggling. However, the rock-hard bulge between his legs didn't exactly get any smaller.  
Eventually, he simply said: "… that's not how you open it. Here. Let me show you."

He wasn't sure afterwards, but Jason could've sworn he'd stared dreamily at Bruce's exposed cock – which was every inch as glorious and perfect as he'd imagined it to be – for nearly a minute until the man above him awkwardly cleared his throat. 

"So – " Bruce said, and then his words died in a prolonged, shuddering hiss when Jason ran his tongue across his entire length, finished it off with a kiss (he'd always wanted to kiss him there), and let him slide into his mouth.

He even tasted good. Or maybe Jason was just crazy.

It wasn't easy to take all of him in; but after a few attempts, after a few bobs of his head and a few choked noises, he managed. A steady, content hum was coming from his lips as he worked his way up and down; and Bruce's hands were there, one caressing his neck, and the other running through his slick, damp black hair. Nudging him forward, encouraging him. The first thrusts came hesitant, cautious, as if he was afraid to break something, but they slowly grew stronger, harder, faster, and in a matter of minutes, he was pulling at Jason's hair and slamming his cock down his throat with desperate force. He had the pleasure to hear Bruce stammer his name, again, and again, in an increasingly choked voice – 

Until he, at some point, suddenly said it very calmly. "Jason."

He let him slip out of his mouth to look up again; he really hated parting with his dick. His eyes were glazed over, his lips were swollen and raw. He felt like he'd been shaken out of a fever dream. "Yeah?"

Bruce looked equally dazed as he looked down at him. His voice was patient when he kindly explained, "I can't … finish like this. I'm not a teenager. It's actually very difficult to reach orgasm through oral stimulation."

"…oh. Um." Jason returned his gaze, still eager to please him, not sure what to do. Bruce wouldn't fuck him, and this wasn't working, so … "What … what d'you want me to do?"

An obscene, delirious look flashed across Bruce's face.

He looked the slightest bit unhinged, but not unkind, when he grabbed a fistful of Jason's hair again and yanked his head back. "You're perfect," he informed him, wrapping his other hand around his own hard-on. "Stay right where you are. And open your mouth."  
With his skilled hands, and the stimulation he'd received, it didn't take him long to reach his peak; and when he did, with a raspy, tortured moan, Jason swallowed everything that got into his mouth. 

He hadn't even planned on doing it. But he did. He swallowed all of it.

The next thing he registered was a handkerchief being handed to him. "Here." Bruce's voice sounded more even again. And mildly embarrassed.

A second later, something else was dropped into his other hand. "Here."

Jason looked at it, and burst out laughing. It was breath mint with a tiny bat on it. "Oh man," he chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. "Never seen those before. Are they new?"

"Not my idea," Bruce grumbled at him. "Alfred's. In case I have to switch characters on short notice."

Or in case you'd just gotten someone else's load blown all the way down your throat, obviously. Jason popped it in his mouth. "Oh. 's good!"

Bruce's shadow fell over him. He realized that while he'd still been drooling on the floor, the older man had properly suited up again. He was offering him his gloved hand. "Get up. Please."

He could've gotten to his feet without help, but he took his hand, anyway. It was nice.

Bruce turned away from him as he awkwardly dusted himself off. He was back to his brooding, earnest self. But then, he quietly said, "Thank you. For making it …" He paused, and seemed to search for the right word. "You made it … easier."

Jason shrugged, unwilling to let on how flattered he was. "Eh, that's me," he said sheepishly. "So, y'know, next time some weirdo creeper locks you up in his sex dungeon, you know who to call."

Bruce didn't laugh. He still avoided looking at him, but this time, it seemed to be normal, after-sex flusteredness, not the symptom of something darker. Jason watched with amusement as he flexed his strained right hand a little bit. "Those things I said to you," he muttered, almost coyly. "About you being … lowly. Filthy. I want you to know I didn't mean them. I never thought that about you. I still don't." He cast a fleeting glance in his direction. "I only said those because you seemed to like it."

Jason gave him a teasing grin, rolling the candy around in his mouth. "Sure. Because _I_ liked it."

Bruce's lips twitched, but he refrained from commenting on that. Instead, he turned to Jason and full-on looked at him, after all. He put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. "You're good," he said.

Jason felt a blush creep into his cheeks. "Like. In bed?"

Bruce gave him a consternated look, but it was a mild one. "A _good man_ ," he corrected him. "You're a good man, Jason." And then, not even he could fully suppress a small grin. "And that other thing. Yes. That, too."

Those words made Jason's chest swell with pride; he couldn't help it. "You're welcome." He kinda wanted to ask Bruce to kiss again, but it seemed like the window for kissing had closed; for now, at least. He was oddly okay with that. Perhaps Batman had been right. Perhaps Jason _had_ been sick, perhaps he _did_ need to get some of that poison out. Only the poison had nothing to do with The Kinkster's concoctions.

Still. He still wanted something. A reminder. A token. A trophy, maybe.

"Hey," he bit his lip. "Before we leave, can I have another one of those mints? I really like 'em."

Bruce gave him a wry smile as he reached into his pocket and took out a handful of candies. "You can have all of them," he told him. "You've earned it."


	4. Heart Of Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Groan. Sorry this took me so long, you guys! Thanks for all the nice notes and encouragement. :)

"Y'know," Nightwing said wryly, tossing his escrima sticks in the air and catching them, because he had to do _something_ to calm himself down, "It'll sound crazy, but after all that's happened, this is _still_ not the weirdest date night I've ever been on."

He knew something was seriously wrong when Robin, instead of going _'Tt'_ , or _'Spare me your attempts at humor, Nightwing'_ , replied "Ahahaha! Yeah, absolutely," in a flimsy voice.

Dick shot him a worried look. He'd never heard a noise this forced and nervous come out of Damian before. That was alarming.

The boy caught him looking, and with a touch of his finger activated his visor, hiding his eyes.

Well, so much for easing the tension.

Damian had undergone a complete attitude switch since they'd left the main hall. He'd been so smug and confident at first, as if he'd won the biggest teddy bear at the carnival (if Damian had ever been into that sort of thing). He'd even tugged on Dick's arm as he'd pulled him away from the others. He’d seemed so unafraid, almost _eager_ , and Dick had started to hope that perhaps, maybe, this wouldn't be completely traumatizing for him.

But as the rush of his victory started to fade, Damian had grown quieter by the minute, while the reality of what they were about to do was slowly sinking in.

They walked past door after door, while time was ticking, and the silence between them seemed to stretch indefinitely. All the while, Dick tried to ignore the effect of the poison coursing through him. He was covered in sweat, his body-fitting suit was sticking to him in all kinds of awkward places, and he felt how much he wanted, _needed_ to be touched by someone, by _anyone_. He knew, if the Kinkster had turned up the valve even a little more, he would’ve let them do it, he’d let them take him one by one; perhaps all of them, at once. He would’ve _begged_ them for it. It was maddening; and the one thing that kept him from throwing himself to the floor and rubbing his hands all over himself like an animal in heat was that Damian was with him, and he needed to make sure the boy got out of this okay.

Next to him, Damian was stomping onward like a gladiator marching into a fighting pit. Dick watched uncomfortably as he started to rub his neck. Then, he moved on to rubbing his arm. Then, he started clutching it. And then, he pretended like he was crossing his arms over his chest, but what he was really doing was full-on _hugging_ himself, like he was cold, or sick, or – 

Dick felt his heart sink.

He wasn’t ready.

Damian wasn't ready. He’d worked so hard on figuring out concepts like 'trust' and 'friendship', and now some pervert was pushing him to graduate to 'sex partners', and he was not ready for it, and he was _terrified_.

This … this wasn't how it was supposed to be.

It was all wrong.

Seeing him administer that hug to himself was heartbreaking. Dick wanted to be the one giving him that hug, but he wasn't sure if that would make things better or worse, and the thought of the Kinkster hornily breathing on a screen somewhere, waiting for him to make a move, made it all really creepy.

Since the dawn of Batman, the freakier villains had always gone out of their way to get Robin into compromising situations, but Dick couldn’t remember anyone ever getting this far; and it crushed him that it had to happen to Damian. No-one should have to endure a lap dance by Professor Pyg _and_ get trapped in The Kinkster’s tacky sex maze in one lifetime. 

Well, he wasn’t going to let his young friend go through this alone. This night was hardly any boy’s dream of his first time, but at least Dick wasn’t a creep, and he knew what he was doing. And most importantly, he cared about him.

He caught up to Damian, and put a gloved hand on his shoulder. The boy froze, but he didn't duck away, as he easily could have. When Dick gave him a gentle squeeze, he exhaled in a way that indicated he'd stopped breathing for a while. He was more tense than Bruce on a Catwoman stakeout; and that was _way_ tense.

“Hey – ”, Dick softly started, but he didn’t get any further.

“I won’t be penetrated!” Damian barked out, a clear hint of panic in his voice, and it became obvious that he’d been agonizing about the How for the past minutes. “B-but I’m willing to use my mouth if the situation arises –”

“Robin. Please, relax.” Dick gently pulled him around until they were facing each other. Damian’s eyes were still hidden, and the rest of him looked all kinds of pissed, but he let it happen. Dick gave him a reassuring smile. “D’you wanna know why I wrote your name?”, he asked warmly.

The teen looked down at his boots, and didn't reply right away. 

"'cause I'm attractive?" He eventually mumbled sourly. “I’m assuming,” he added, and winced. He sounded embarrassed, as if he didn’t really believe that about himself. It was devastatingly sad.

Dick's smile wavered. Was that … was that really how he felt? He was so cocky about everything else; had nobody ever told him that he was handsome, that he was desirable, that he could be liked? Did he really not …

“Do you really not know,” Dick wondered out loud.

“Know what,” Damian grunted, stubbornly staring at a point on the wall somewhere behind Dick, unwilling to look at him.

“How gorgeous you are.”

Damian let out a small gasp. His lips parted. He looked startled and vulnerable. Dick could see the blood pulse in his cheeks; it had started when they’d left the others, but now it was getting out of control. And suddenly, he understood that Damian hadn’t picked him because he trusted him the most, or because he found him the most handsome, or something – he had a full-on crush on him, and Dick was only realizing it now.

Okay, _that_ … made things _really_ awkward. 

It also retroactively made many of their past interactions seem super-weird.

Before he could help it, he could hear himself sigh, “Oh, Robin,” in a mild, sympathetic voice. It was probably the last thing the boy wanted to hear. Damian stood frozen, mortified, like a deadly, glowering, frightened bunny. He didn’t even seem to have the strength to throw a fit and call Dick an imbecile, or something.

It … aw.

He didn’t resist when Dick pulled him into a hug. Dick could feel every muscle in his body tensing, but now he knew that it wasn’t out of fear. Robin was stiff as a log in his arms. Dick closed his eyes and held him tight. Embracing someone who was both into you, and dosed with aphrodisiac, probably qualified as torture somewhere. But he had to do it. He had to let him know that he cared, and he had to say what he’d been meaning to say from the start.

He found his ear and whispered to him, in the hopes that the Kinkster’s wretched microphones and cameras wouldn’t pick it up. This was between him and Damian. Nobody else.

“Listen,” he said, his voice soft. Intimate. “I know this isn’t easy. I know it’s scary. And you … you shouldn’t have to do this. But I want you to know that you can trust me, and that I –“

He hesitated. He knew it wasn’t what Damian wanted from him, but it was the truth, and it would have to do.

“– that I’m your friend, and that I care about you.”

Damian's nails dug into his shoulders. His tense face twitched; for a second, it seemed like he would smile at him. A lot of Damian's rare friendly smiles started out looking like a facial spasm, so Dick wasn't worried a – until the boy's face twisted into a furious grimace, and he gave him a shove, so hard that it sent the taller man stumbling backwards. 

" _Why_ ," he spat.

He was baring his teeth at him. Dick was gaping, feeling helpless and blindsided.

"Why?!" Damian repeated, but then he went on, "Why _now_ , Nightwing? Why not _sooner_?!"

And Dick understood. Damian wasn’t mad at him, he was mad at _everything_ , above all, the way his first crush was playing out. Had this come up sooner, he … at least would’ve had a chance to get shot down in private. Dick numbly realized that he, himself, had never had to deal with a lot of rejection in his life; he could only imagine how devastating all of this had to be for a proud boy like this one. And now Damian looked hurt, which was so much worse than Damian looking pissed.

“Listen, I still can – “ Dick tried calmly, but he got cut off at once.

" _Look_ at us!" The boy hissed at him. He seemed ready to bash someone's face in, though it wasn't entirely clear whose face. " _Now_ look at us, Nightwing. _This_ is where we're doing this now." He was obviously seething with ice-cold rage, but underneath that, there was something else. Bitterness. Frustration. Sadness. "Are you _happy_?"

It stung. "No," Dick said softly, "No, Robin. Not happy at all." 

Damian scrunched his face up in something that almost looked like disgust, or _maybe_ as if he felt like crying. Then, he turned his back to him, directing his anger at one of the surveillance cameras instead.

"Well. No point in dwelling on it." He glowered at the lense. His voice was almost as dark as his father’s, and actually about twice as vicious. "Let’s just make sure we give this cowardly bastard a _show_ that'll really make him miss his _eyes_ when I tear them from his skull and pop them like _grapes_." 

Then, his fury seemed to finally override his shyness, since he spun around again, snapping, “And I expect your _full cooperation_ , Nightwing!”

Dick swallowed. A bead of sweat trickled down his throat. That. That last part had been unexpectedly, unnervingly sexy.

“I … um, I take it you don’t mean the eye-gouging. Which, FYI, we won’t let you do, anyway,” he stammered. And then, his voice dropped at least three octaves when he added, “But yes. I’ll give it … I’ll give you my best.”

Oh boy.

He started twirling his escrima stick again, hoping to distract Damian, the Kinkster, and himself from the sudden, awkward tightening in his codpiece area.

But it was too late. Damian stared at him, his entire body stirred, and Dick knew he had noticed. The boy bit his lip and said nothing. But then, he came trawling over like a wildcat tentatively circling its prey. He didn’t stop until he was facing Dick head-on and their bodies were almost touching. He folded his arms over his chest, seizing his older friend up like he’d done the first few times they’d met. Dick knew that stance. It was what he did when he tried to put up a cocky front, but was a big ball of nerves underneath.

“I can do this, Gr- Nightwing,” he growled, the name slip-up being the only indicator of his anxiousness. “When I was little, the League used to document my progress meticulously. Do you know what was on me when they pulled me out of the artificial womb I was bred in? A camera. Likewise, a camera was on me when I got my first private plane, and also when I made my first kill, both when I was eight. And lastly, I spent my tenth birthday wrestling a white shark underwater; _on camera_. I soar under pressure; I thrive under duress. This is no different.”

Dick was half-tempted to point out the millions of ways this was different, and also, how incredibly depressing everything he’d just said was, but he didn’t want to deflate his newfound courage. Besides, something in the way the boy spoke to him made his heart race all the way up into his throat.

“Let’s kiss,” Damian finally suggested brusquely.

It wasn't really a request. It sounded harsh, almost rude. But that was probably because it was his first time. And because he was generally pretty rude.

Dick smiled at him. He was glad it was Damian who initiated it; he was fairly sure that his friend had never been kissed before, and it was a decision that he should make for himself. As limited as his choices were right now, Dick didn’t want to take that from him, too.

“I’d be honored,” he said, and it rang surprisingly true.

Damian flinched just the slightest bit when Dick touched him. It was heartbreaking to know that he wouldn’t have flinched if someone had thrown an axe at his face, or if a bullet had zipped by inches from his head; yet, he flinched as Dick Grayson gently put his hand under his chin. Damian’s lips parted again. Dick noticed, for the first time, how chafed they were. It was somehow very charming. He could hear himself croon almost involuntarily while their faces approached.

Damian almost seemed to swoon into him for a moment. Then, his hands suddenly closed around Dick’s head like a bear trap, and he pulled him down into a hard, furious kiss.

It was the kiss of a clueless, clumsy, angry teen, all teeth and rough, probing tongue. Yet Dick temporarily lost all feeling in his knees. He knew now that Damian had been pining for him, probably played this moment out in his head a couple of times, but he still hadn’t been quite prepared for the kid _penetrating_ his mouth with this much fervor, producing all these urgent noises while he did. He could feel in Damian’s movements how mad he still was, but that, catastrophically, didn’t make it less hot in the slightest. Dick’s fingers were trembling when he grabbed his hips and squeezed them, while their hearts were hammering against each other in their tight combat outfits. He tried to counter-act Damian’s ferocity with a little more tenderness and experience. He moaned for him, then he made _him_ jerk and moan when he sucked his lower lip into his mouth, nibbling on it playfully. But that didn’t exactly succeed in slowing him down; he could hear his breath hitch and jump-start over and over while he jabbed at Dick’s lips with his teeth in return. At one point, Dick let out a soft “Ow”, when Damian pinched his temple pretty hard. It was insane how hot their bodies were, pressed up against each other. Dick could feel something on the move down where their loins were touching; it was a little awkward, but not surprising, and really freaking mutual.

When they broke it off, Damian almost immediately hid his face by burying it against Dick’s chest. But his arms were tightly, snugly wrapped around him. The boy was shivering. Dick could hear his breath going shallow and fast. He put a hand on his back, rubbing it soothingly.

“That’s a start,” he whispered. “Remember. No matter what happens, no matter what we do next, I would never hurt you, ever.”

Damian had been shivering before, now he started shaking. His grip on Dick seemed to be tightening. But somehow, it didn't feel like a teenage boy swooning against his crush, at all. It was … something else. Dick couldn’t place it. 

And then, Damian whispered back, low and hoarse: "That is not what I'm worried about. _You._ Hurting _me_."

Something about the way he said that sent a chill down Dick's spine.

He suddenly became very aware of how strong Damian had become; how the cheerful colors of the Robin suit matched neither his bulky frame, nor the wildness in his face and movements; how his toned arms and chest almost exploded the costume. How he'd _outgrown_ it. He wasn't a boy anymore; he was nearly as tall as Dick was. He was a man now. A volatile, dangerous man. 

Dick fully realized, for the first time, that his former Robin could probably kick his ass if he put his mind to it.

"What –" he licked his lip, still red and swollen from the kissing. "What was that all about…?"

Damian's nails seemed to be digging into his arms. Dick wasn't sure anymore who was holding whom here; all he knew was that his skin would bruise.

The masked teen offered no explanation. "Nightwing," he muttered instead, face still pressed against him. "I need to ask a favor."

"What is it?" 

Dick would have loved to say "yes" with all his heart, but he knew from bitter experience that you never simply said that when a Wayne asked for a favor, because it could potentially be something bonkers.

Damian looked up at him again, finally, and Dick was reminded that, no matter how strong he’d become and how complex and dangerous he was, he was still his friend, his Boy Wonder, one of the best partners he’d ever had; and that he would've trusted this kid with his life, always. 

"Let me … let me choose the room we do it in?" He asked in a pinched, throaty voice. Further down, their boners were now full-on throbbing against each other in a rhythmical unison.

Dick smiled, relieved. He nudged their noses together. "Sure. Anywhere you want."

“Good.”

He almost stopped breathing when Damian nodded his approval, then let go of Dick's arm to reach further down – 

-took his hand, and pulled on it. "Let’s go," he said, and there was something sad, but also endearing about how earnest he was, "Let's not waste any more time." 

Dick let him lead the way. It seemed to give Damian some of his confidence back; for someone who hated this whole endeavor with every fiber of his being (as he should), Damian had a very clear idea of where he wanted to go. It wasn't long until they arrived.

"This is the one," He declared, sounding a little more determined than before. "This is the one I want."

Dick peeked inside. And saw … nothing.

He remembered this one; it was called The Darkness, and that was all that it was: a room that was completely pitch dark. It was like staring into a black hole. He half expected Bruce in there; seemed like this'd be exactly his jam. But nobody was there. 

"Holy blackout, really?!" He blurted out, staring into the gaping maw of utter darkness the door provided.

"Do you not like it?" Damian's tone was playful, but there was something in his voice that made the hairs at the back of Dick's neck stand up. "You're not afraid of the dark, are you, Nightwing?"

Dick had to grin. The truth was, you didn't spend your entire life as a vigilante without falling in love with the dark. It was an asset. An ally. A friend. And Dick understood why Damian was drawn to it. If this helped him overcome his nervousness and made this a little less weird for him, Dick was more than up for it.

He wouldn't have minded _seeing_ Damian while he had sex with him, but … they would still touch. And Dick knew a thing or two about how the dark amplified the feeling of being touched. The thought alone sent soft ripples of anticipation through his body.

He elbowed the kid. "You're either even shier than I thought," he teased him, "Or you're _brilliant_."

Damian didn’t laugh, or smile. He was tensing again, so Dick cupped his cheek to reassure him with another kiss. For a moment, it seemed as if Damian would be going for it. But then he clammed up, turned on his heel, and bounced off into The Darkness, yellow cape trailing behind him. Grinning, Dick chased after him. The door closed behind them with a cold, eerie click.

He didn’t stop grinning until he tried to activate his night vision, and found it didn’t work.

Then, another chill washed over him when he realized what had happened. 

That pinch.

While they had kissed, while Dick had been completely distracted by how passionate he was, Damian had destroyed the chip that controlled his night vision and heat sensors. That had been the pinch that he’d felt. Those chips were sturdy, compact little things, hard to break; but Damian had grown up with the Bat, he knew how to do it. Dick couldn't see. Damian could.

It was a predatory move.

A _killer’s_ move.

He made a few steps into the dark, hoping to find something, anything, to orientate himself by. He tried to keep his voice calm, light. “Robin? What are you doing?”

His call wasn’t answered. But then, Dick saw something bright and yellow sail towards him from the ceiling. Damian had taken off his cape; of course he had. It would've made it easier to spot him, even in a room like this. A moment later, the red vest with the "R" landed at Dick's feet, as well. 

The bird was shedding.

It was a creepy thought, but then, well, the whole situation was pretty creepy.

Dick felt gooseflesh crawl across his body. It was clear Damian was up to something, but it wasn't entirely clear what, and it spooked him. At the same time, he was extremely aware that Damian was now prancing around above him somewhere _half-naked_. Dick moved cautiously, on his guard, prepared for anything, while at the same time boasting the most confusing erection of all time.

Great. He was pretty sure that the Kinkster had equipped this room with special cameras, so not only would they be doing it in the dark, they'd also be doing it in horrible, sickly green night vision. Like rodents.

“Is this a game?” He wondered out loud, while keenly listening to even the faintest noises. He tried to sound much more chill about the whole thing than he really was. “Hide and seek? No offense, chum, but do we have to do this now?”

If only he could provoke Damian into uttering something, even only a _”Tt.”_. It’d make it easier to locate him, and pull him into his arms, and hold him until he realized he didn’t need to play games with him. He’d always been able to get through to the kid, no matter how weird he was acting.

But if Dick was being honest, Damian was not that kid anymore; and they both knew it.

“C’mon, don’t be shy,” he said in his usual light-hearted tone, as if this wasn’t freaky as hell. “I promise I won’t bite. At least not until you ask me to. Robin, seriously.”

Still no reply; his voice rang hollow and lonely in the oppressive darkness.

He could sense Damian moving between the rafters above, restlessly, as silent as a ghost. Dick knew it would've been easy to swing himself to the ceiling as well, but he also expected that the moment he did, Damian would dive down to the ground. Dick frowned. They were losing precious time; he didn’t exactly want to _rush_ through deflowering his difficult friend, and then, Tim was still out there, alone, and Dick had sorta promised him …- 

He took out his escrima sticks, and the electrical blast ignited the darkness long enough for him to see a flicker of green boots with red laces and the reflection of a belt buckle. Dick’s heart skipped; instead of leaping after him, he anticipated where Damian would turn next, and swung himself in that direction. He was fast enough to grab a bit of heel, but it slipped out of his fingers, and Damian was gone again.

He repeated the maneuver a few times, but it went as he’d expected. When he went up, Damian went down, and vice versa. If this was Damian’s idea of foreplay, it really wasn’t working for him (perhaps under different circumstances, certainly not now); if it was something else, it was hella disturbing.

Eventually, Dick felt his way to the bed he’d found, and sat down on it. If chasing Damian didn’t help, maybe honesty did.

“Robin. Please.” He weakly smiled up at the ceiling, in the hopes that the boy could see it. “I’m not gonna lie, this is starting to freak me out.”

There was silence again, for a moment. But then, finally a response.

“Nightwing.”

Dick’s chest loosened in relief. “Yeah?”

It felt good to hear his voice, and it felt good to hear how he sounded. Damian didn’t sound threatening, he didn’t sound predatory. He sounded all choked-up and nervous and shy; it was sweet.

“Nightwing, do you, um. Do you remember the first thing that ever truly aroused you…?” Damian’s disembodied voice asked him.

Dick’s heart skipped another beat.

_Your father._

Yeah, well … he couldn’t say that now.

“Batgirl,” he replied, not missing a beat. “It was Batgirl.”

Close enough.

“Hn.” Damian seemed to ponder that. Hard to tell if he liked that answer or not. But Dick was still relieved that Damian was opening up to him at all, attempting to talk to him about these things. He gave up on wanting to locate him in the dark, and decided to just listen, and talk. Perhaps Damian would admit to him now that for him, it had _also_ been Batgirl (though a different one), or perhaps he’d admit it’d been Dick, himself. Either way, he was glad this talk was happening.

He was in no way prepared for what Damian said next.

When he spoke, each of his words seemed to be covered in gooseflesh. “For me, it was murder.”

The pitch-black confession drained all the blood from Dick’s face. His pulse started racing. The feel of his escrima sticks against his back suddenly felt very essential. It wasn’t what you wanted to hear from someone who was toiling above you in the dark, and probably had multiple knives on him. At the same time, it was devastating. Heartbreaking.

“Da…- Robin,” he whispered. “Oh, Robin, no.”

“It’s true.” The boy’s voice was rough and shaky. It seemed to come from many different directions at once. He was still on the move, only he seemed to be on the run from himself now, rather than Dick. The darkness seemed to free him, enable him to pour all these words out. 

“I was … I was great at it. I knew I was great at it. It was what I knew. It made me feel powerful; it made me feel in control. And that felt _good_. I had that … impulse long before those … other impulses started. And when they did … when I was maturing, it was all I could think about. I knew there was something wrong with me; but it was the only thing that’d get me … I would lie in my bed, at night, doing … debasing myself, and I’d think about _killing_.”

“Robin,” Dick mumbled again. Telling him this seemed to relieve Damian, but it had the opposite effect on him. Hearing it almost made him want to cry, but he couldn’t; he felt all dried up, tense, alert. All bets were off; he had no idea what would happen next. What Damian would do next. Whatever it was, he needed to be prepared for it.

But the boy’s voice seemed to soften when he said, “And then, there was you.”

Dick swallowed. That could mean _a number of things_ right now.

“Yeah…?” He asked, cautiously. “And…?”

“I found I could think of you, instead.” There was some warmth, some life creeping back into the boy’s smooth, dark voice. “It wasn’t even a conscious thing. It wasn’t something I had to condition myself to do. It simply happened. I would think of you, and it would … work for me. It’d make me feel good in the way those other thoughts used to. Eventually, I started thinking about more people in that way, as well, but … I learned it all thinking of you.”

Dick shivered. This was profoundly sweet, and deeply disturbing at the same time. Like so many things that pertained to Damian.

“And I … I never thought about killing you even _once_.” Damian sounded proud; and in a crazy way, Dick completely understood why. “Because even in these moments, I knew I wouldn’t want to.”

Dick closed his eyes and tried to draw a few deep, measured breaths. He could feel blood rush back into his cheeks; he could feel something well up in his chest, and knew there was no possible way for him to express how much this confession moved him, or how relieved he felt. There were no words for it.

All he said was: “Robin. Please come to me.”

Damian sounded almost comically shy, considering all the twisted things he’d shared with him now. “After … after all the stuff I’ve said?”

“After all the stuff you’ve said.” Dick felt him hesitate, and made a decision. He could coax him out of the shadows. He could coax him out of the dark.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me about the things you always wanted to do with me.”

He could hear Damian gasp. But then he started to talk. And after everything that had preceded it, his teenage fantasies turned out to be almost achingly innocent.

“I’d think about you coming into my bed at night…” 

His voice was wavering.

“You’d come into my bed, and you’d press up against me, and you’d l-let me touch you everywhere. And you’d … you’d kiss me, everywhere.”

Dick realized with a nervous thrum of his heart that the voice was coming closer now. He lied down on his back, stretched himself out across the sheets, shivering. He presented himself, eyes closed, defenseless and open, awaiting him. He wasn’t aroused anymore (all that talk about getting off to murder had murdered his boner, and murdered it hard), but he could already feel the sensation returning with every word that came from Damian’s lips.

“Go on,” he prompted him softly.

He half expected this to turn a really dark corner at some point, but it didn’t.

“You’d … you’d put your arms around me, and tell me there was nobody you liked better, that there was no-one you wanted more. And then y-you’d, um, you’d roll on top of me, and …”

Damian trailed off, flustered. Dick opened one eye, peeking out into the dark. “Robin…?”

In the next moment, he yelped when Damian _pounced_ on him from the ceiling, landing on all fours, hands on both sides of Dick’s face, knees on both sides of his hips. Dick felt his mad-hot breath graze his face, and then Damian kissed him so hard that his head was slammed into the mattress.

Dick grabbed him by the neck and smiled, lips curling up against his harsh, hungry mouth. “Kiss you everywhere, huh?” He breathed, and then he made the boy fidget and moan when he lowered his head, and started wetly sucking on the soft flesh of his throat. He bit and licked the sticky skin, gently, persistently, then went deeper, kissing his way down his collar bone, his bronze-shaded chest. Damian tasted like sweat and exertion, salty, rich, delicious, and he was shaking harder with every touch of Dick’s lips. Dick teased him with his mouth until he felt his limbs turn to putty. Then, he shot him a warm, mischievous smile, and flipped him over on his back. Damian made the most endearing, startled little sound when Dick grabbed the backs of both his knees, and pulled him down beneath him.

He squirmed when Dick moved between his legs. His shielded eyes were little, icy pools of light, but his face was intensely flushed, and he made an almost elated noise when he felt Dick’s weight press down on him. Dick purred, lapping at his mouth again before he started rolling his hips, as if their clothes weren’t still separating them. He could feel himself getting hard against the firm, warm, leather-clad outline of the boy’s cock. Damian’s arms were around his neck, his hands clamped into fists on Dick’s back. His moans were slowly growing steadier, responding to the rhythm of Dick’s movements. 

“Roll on top of you,” Dick growled, holding him down and fucking him through his clothes, “Like this?”

“Ah- yes-,” Damian admitted. And now, he was thrusting into him, too. “B-but …”

“With my cock in you,” Dick purred into his ear, “Mmm. I know.”

He made him flinch and whimper as he pulled on his earlobe with his lips. He could feel Damian’s fists unclenching, and his hands travel across his back, over his hips, towards his ass. Tentative. Explorative.

“That’s right,” he encouraged him again, lips tickling his ear. “Touch me everywhere.” And then, he rocked against him with a soft grunt when he felt his hands squeezing him through his suit. The effect of the poison was strong now, the friction of their bodies did the rest, and he could feel his own movements grow hungrier, more erratic. He tried to hold back. He didn’t want Damian to think he was using him, even if his own pressure levels were rising, maddeningly, indefinitely.

“That was some tricky business with my mask you did there,” he hissed, tightening his grip on Damian’s hips, “I shouldn’t let you get away with that.”

The boy pierced his skin with his sharp little nails. “Yessir,” was his moaned response, “I’m sorry, Sir,” but Dick could hear the twisted satisfaction through it, and he didn’t really mind it, either.

He kept it up until he could hear Damian start panting fast and hard, felt his hip bones shudder, and realized he was about to come. The kid bucked against him with a frustrated mewl when he broke it off. But then, he watched with interest as Dick knelt down between his feet, and started to untie his heavy boots. He could see his eyes glow at him in the dark.

“Can’t risk you making a mess in your pants,” he told him with a low chuckle. “You’re gonna have to wear those out of here. And that stuff does _not_ wash out of black leather, I’m telling you.”

The kid growled. “I know.”

Dick looked up at him, smirking. Of course he would.

“It’s too bad,” he sighed, when he pulled his footwear off of him. He dipped a sweet, flustered kiss on Damian’s stomach. “I dig those boots,” he mumbled against his skin. “They look hot on you.”

Damian squirmed and bit his lip. He said nothing, but Dick could tell that hearing him admit that affected him. He impatiently wriggled his hips when Dick yanked his pants off. He couldn’t see too much of the boy’s cock, but when he touched it, it felt big, rock-hard, and slick with precome. Tasty.

He could hear Damian hold his breath when he started to strip out of his own suit. It made him blush.

“Aw, c’mon. You’ve seen me naked before,” he teased him. 

Well, they’d changed in front of each other countless times, but admittedly, it took on a slightly different bend now that Dick knew how many times Damian had gotten off to him. And he’d certainly never seen Dick with an erection before, or at least Dick hoped that he hadn’t; because how creepy would that have been.

“I have, but not like …” Damian started to protest, but then his impatience won over, and his usual pushy nature surfaced again. “You know what I mean. Just … just get naked, Nightwing.”

“Will do,” he assured him. “Don’t want to get anything on myself, either.”

It didn’t take him long; he was fairly practiced at getting out of his suit quickly. He could feel the boy watching the play of his muscles beneath his skin as he leaned over the bed’s edge to discard their clothes. It was a little weird to think that Damian could watch him through his night vision lenses, when all he could see were shapes and movements. But he was getting used to it; and something about being on display like this thrilled him, too.

Damian’s hips shot up to meet him when he buried his mouth between his legs. The skin on his thighs was softer and even smoother than his skin elsewhere; a secret, rarely exposed part of his body. He ran his tongue across it, kissed it, nibbled on it, listened to him heave and whimper in the dark. 

“You dreamed about me doing this, too?” He asked cheekily, before he finally poured his lips over the boy’s youthful, twitching dick.

“Oh –“ Damian gasped, then went very still, trying to pull it together.

He was literally a mouthful, furiously aroused and larger than expected, but Dick took him in deeply, anyway. His experience benefitted both of them. Damian sat up, and seemed to almost _hug_ Dick’s head in his lap, groaning softly while he stroked his hair. He didn’t even have to suck on him for a minute until he heard a yelp, felt a yank on his scalp, and his mouth and throat filled up with his thick, hot seed.

It was beautiful to feel all tension leave Damian’s body for once. The boy fell back with a soft noise, limbs still twitching. “I pulled … pulled your hair, I apologize,” he then said woozily.

“’s all right,” Dick assured him, before he covered his mouth with his hand to cough up a small amount of semen, which was punctuated by a tiny, embarrassed laugh from Damian. As weird as it was, it was nice to hear him laugh.

But he quickly grew quiet and serious again. “You’re not finished,” he pointed out in a low, husky voice.

Dick looked down at his own reddened, pulsing erection. Well, no kidding.

He couldn’t resist grabbing it, and giving himself a few fast, hard pumps. He quivered, feeling the precome seep over his fingers. Oh god, this was _urgent_.

“I want to …” He could hear Damian shift in the sheets. “I want to … help you.” Even though he’d just come, his voice was throaty, thick with desire. “I’d do anything. _Anything_.”

Despite the darkness, Dick could see the boy spreading his legs for him. It was fairly obvious what he wanted him to do. His pulse skipped at the sight.

“You said you didn’t want to do that,” he said quietly.

Damian had said that earlier, before the aphrodisiac and their nakedness had completely taken over, and Dick wanted to respect that. He hadn’t really been with that many younger, less experienced partners in his life, and he’d prefer to keep it light, playful, at least in here.

“But I want it now,” Damian insisted, and his fieriness made all of Dick’s nerve ends twitch. The boy cleared his throat. “If you worry about hurting me, don’t. I’ve … um. I’ve put things in me before.”

There was something heartwarmingly coy about the way he said that. Dick reached out and patted his knee. Even that small touch made Damian shiver. But Dick’s mind was still made up.

“Not here,” he said.

And he knew exactly what it meant. It meant that, even if he’d claimed that Damian was merely his _friend_ , that he was not against doing this again. And he could tell from the small gasp the boy let out that he understood him, too.

At that moment, the intercom crackled, and they could hear the Kinkster sigh, “D’aaaw!”

Nightwing and Robin turned their heads to yell “SHUT UP!” in unison. Then, they grinned at each other. 

They’d always worked well together.

Dick leaned over and pressed a light kiss on Damian’s knee. “I know what we’ll do,” he said. “Let me show you.”

He gestured for him to lie back down. Damian peppered his chest with kisses while he reached over to the small chest beside the bed. He knew it held flasks and bottles from bumping into it earlier, and it wasn’t a huge mystery what they contained. He didn’t have to search long until he found something slick, oily and nice-smelling that he could pour over his fingers.

Damian almost immediately got hard again when Dick started slathering the oil on his lean, strong thighs, circling his thumbs over his sensitive skin.

“Easy, soldier,” he teased, while he took the boy’s legs, pressed them together, and draped them over his shoulder. “Are you ready for this?”

Damian didn’t say anything, but Dick could see him frantically nodding his head.

He nearly bit through his lip as he wedged his heated, throbbing cock in between his firm thighs. Sweat trickled down his forehead. His balls were pounding. He knew he was close to spilling. He’d never done this with someone before, and he hadn’t been prepared for how good it felt. He almost hissed when he felt the wiry pair of legs squeeze down around his raw, itching, sensitive tip. Damian was staring up at him with his blank, shiny eyes while he used the muscles in his legs to pinch and release him in quick succession, a knowing smile on his lips. He obviously enjoyed exerting this small bit of power over his former Batman. Enjoyed driving him crazy. And Dick had no qualms showing him what it was doing, shuddering and groaning with every contraction. When he started to move, he did it carefully, because despite his desire to get off, he didn’t want to explode with his first thrust. He knew he’d start slamming Damian like a madman in a matter of seconds anyway, and maybe he could give the kid a few seconds to settle in before he let him see what a desperate horndog his cool older friend really was.

He didn’t get far, though, because Damian suddenly whispered, “Wait.”

Dick blinked down at him, panting hard. “Wh-what …?” He gasped, sounding the tiniest bit exasperated.

Damian looked downright sultry now, with his cheeks sensually flushed and his wet, swollen lips parted. He was steadily growing into his new role, and it almost seemed as if he liked it.

“Gr- Di- …Nightwing. Your fingers,” he demanded, breathless, but with much authority. “Give them to me. I want it.”

“You sure…?” Dick asked , while his body trembled and his cock was aching between the boy’s legs.

For a moment, Damian became that snide, bossy little prick again. “I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t _sure_. Don’t make me repeat myself,” he sneered. But then his voice grew a little softer when he said, “You can take your hands off my legs. I’ll keep them closed for you. I want it, please.”

Dick couldn’t possibly turn a request like that down. His fingers were still sleek with oil when they found their way down there, and he had no trouble pushing one inside. Then another. Damian’s breath hitched in his throat, and then he rolled his hips in an effort to take them in completely.

“More,” he panted. “One … one more.”

He let out a little cry when Dick answered his plea, and cried out again when he started scissoring his fingers, moving them back and forth inside him. The contradicting sensation of having his legs firmly closed, while getting stretched open at the same time, it had to be something else.

“How d’you feel,” Dick mumbled.

Another smile poured across Damian’s face. “F-full,” he replied. He sounded pleased. It wasn’t hard to guess that he was imagining it was Dick’s cock fucking him, not his fingers.

Dick bent down to kiss him again, legs still over his shoulders – that was the benefit of doing it with highly flexible nighttime vigilantes – and Damian gasped when the new position drove the invading digits even deeper into him. But it didn’t sound like he was complaining.

“You’re incredible,” Dick told him.

And with that, his last shred of noble restraint evaporated. He started thrusting, and he knew he wouldn’t stop until he’d fucked himself empty between Damian’s thighs. The boy knew, too, and he was assisting him, crossing his legs firmly and holding him tightly between them, kissing his mouth, hotly, wetly, all while slamming himself onto his fingers, and it was absolutely remarkable. He managed to drive himself to another orgasm before Dick reached his first.

It was a damn shame he couldn’t cry out the boy’s real name when he finally made it.

They knew they didn’t really have much time, but they still stretched out on the bed together afterwards, breathing heavily, and let the sweat cool off their bodies.

The first thing Damian said after a while was, “You’re still going to go to Dr-… to Red Robin next, aren’t you.”

Dick couldn’t really make out his face, but there was an unsure, forlorn note in his voice.

He sighed. “I don’t want him to rot in here. Or any of us, for that matter. So, yeah,” he replied truthfully.

“Do you love him?”

Damian’s voice was sharp. But not in a bossy way. Anxious, almost.

Dick didn’t have to think about it. “Of course I love him,” he said right out. He heard Damian make a little noise at that, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. The boy let him. “Like a brother,” he specified. “I love him like a brother. This is life or death, Robin, of course I will go to him.”

In the dark, he could see Damian grumpily stare at his toes. But then, he said, “I understand.”

Dick rolled over to him, touched his lips with his fingers – the ones that hadn’t been in him minutes ago – and then kissed him.

“I wasn’t just saying that, you know,” he said quietly. “I do think you’re incredible.”

Damian wryly smirked against his lips. “What if _he’s_ incredible?” 

“That’s not - ” Dick frowned. But Damian wasn’t just teasing him. He was truly bothered by it. He’d learned at a very early age that everything was competitive, and that feelings were secondary. He’d said he’d understood, but Dick wasn’t sure he really did. And perhaps it was wrong to expect a teenager to be completely okay with it, when the guy he had a crush on immediately waltzed off with the next dude after taking his virginity. Even if the situation demanded it.

“He’s like a brother to me,” Dick said again. “But you … you are …” He trailed off. It was hard to find words for something that didn’t have a name yet. He didn’t want to say too little, but considering the circumstances, he also didn’t want to say too much.

Eventually, he rested his head on Damian chest, and closed his eyes. “You’re my partner,” he murmured. “Always were.”

Damian growled “Hn,” at that, but then he started running his hand through Dick’s hair. He seemed content for now. Dick listened to his heart beating against his ear; it wasn’t slow. After a minute of that, however, Robin pushed him off and said, “Well, then we should probably go. My pants, please.”

It was a little harsh, but Dick couldn’t blame him. Besides, cuddling in someone else’s creepy sex dungeon wasn’t exactly ideal. He was sure they could do better than this.

Damian was all business while they collected their things and suited back up, but once they went outside, he entangled his fingers with Dick’s, and they held hands while they walked back to main hall. It was weird. And quite nice.

“Promise me one thing,” he suddenly said, before they entered. “You’ll … think of _me_ while you’re with him, right?”

On the surface, it sounded like one of his usual slams against Tim. But there was something raw and emotional beneath it.

Dick gave him a stern look. “That’d be really rude,” he pointed out. However, next, he sighed, and put his arm around Damian’s waist. “But you know what, after all this? I can’t even rule it out.”

Damian made a noise like a satisfied cat, both at hearing his reply, and at getting squeezed. “I’ll wear the boots for you next time,” he announced, while his cheeks were getting flushed. Dick knew it was his way to try and bribe him to have sex again (a bribe that was totally unneeded), but also his way to ask if there was really going to be a next time.

He pulled the boy close, and planted a firm, wet kiss on his forehead. “Please,” he muttered, and listened to him exhaling deeply. Then, they wisely let go of each other when they stepped inside to reunite with, and then retrieve, Red Robin.

But they found the hall empty. Tim was gone. 

“Look at that.” Damian crossed his arms, trying, and failing, to hide how pleased he was. “Someone else must’ve gotten to him first!”

“Yeah …” Dick took a worried look around. “But who – ”

“Not me,” a deep voice growled from above.

They both flinched in a decidedly un-badass fashion, and looked up. Batman was perched on a ledge above them. Dick thought it was an odd choice to address them from up there, at first. But once he actually set eyes on the man, it hit him like a sack of bricks how deeply awkward it was to face him now, and he was secretly grateful. He should’ve realized that Bruce never did things without purpose.

Dick glanced at Damian, and practically watched all his new-found confidence crawl screeching into the nearest hole at the sight of his father. Meeting your dad right after having sex for the first time probably ranked fairly high on the paternal nightmares list, and having your dad know _exactly_ what you did had to be straight-up punitive. Damian’s face grew very, very dark, and his beefy shoulders were drooping while he hunched over and started to unconvincingly study his fingernails, which were completely covered by his gloves. Which, Dick thought, was way less of a terrible reaction than he could’ve had. He half-longed to put a comforting arm around his shoulders, but he didn’t want to weird out everyone in the room even more than they already were.

He spoke to Batman instead, which was hard enough.

“So, Red Robin’s with … oh boy.” He winced, scratching his neck. “Hope nothing goes wrong there.”

Robin slapped a hand over his mouth, and Dick realized he was stifling a giggle.

“Me too,” Bruce replied gravely. His voice wasn’t exactly friendly, but at least he didn’t seem to actively despise Dick after what he did, which was a huge relief. But then, he made him cringe when he asked, “Robin, are you all right?”

The boy nodded, still covering his mouth, still not looking at his father. “Um … ’m fine.” Dick was impressed he could even form words in Bruce’s direction. He really was pretty tough, this one.

His mumbled reply seemed to satisfy Batman for now. He got up from his crouching position. “Do you want to give the facilities another rundown?” He asked harshly, but it was actually a pretty brilliant suggestion. Dick now remembered that the lust-inducing gas was still in the air. Hanging out here together waiting for Tim and Jason to finish doing … whatever they were doing, was a horrible idea. If they got horny again, things could rapidly go from mildly weird to really freaky. And they all realized it.

“Yes,” Dick breathed, and Damian was nodding along.

“Do you want to do it heading in different directions?”

Again. “Yes!” This time, Damian said it with him.

“Good.” Batman turned away with a gracious swoop of his cape. “We’ll regroup in …” He hesitated. Dick knew why. What was he supposed to say? _‘Once our remaining two allies are done banging’_ or a variation thereof would sound really scarring coming from him. “… regrouping to be determined,” he then grumbled. “And you might want to avoid the first room on the left in the third corridor.” 

With that thoughtful reminder, he swung himself up to the ceiling, and away.

“Don’t worry. I won’t start something,” Damian said, once his father’s cape had fluttered off into the distance. He looked almost sweetly flustered when he pointed after Batman. “ _That_ … I will need time to recover from that.”

“We all will, Robin, we all will.” Dick ruffled his hair, which, to his surprise, was a gesture that got accepted. “But, just so you know.” He grinned. “If you _were_ going to start something, ‘worried’ is not what I’d be.”

The light stomp on the foot he received for that was probably wholly deserved.


End file.
